My hands were clapped together, the light was suddenly extinguished and the vision was gone. He looked up at me, his smile glittering in darkness. ‘They’re just maenads, orgy nymphs. They come and go, so to speak.’
‘Look—’
‘Spanky, please.’
‘How the hell did you do that?’ I was amazed. It had to be a trick, some kind of instant hypnotism.
‘Work it out, Martyn. You’re smart enough.’
Clear thought failed me. The room was hot and stale, and my head was filled with pounding music.
‘Tell me, Martyn, do you know what a daemon is?’
‘A devil, I guess.’
‘You guess incorrectly. A daemon is the link between God and man.’
‘And that’s what you are?’
‘Indeed. We’re a very noble breed. Socrates himself had a very superior one, called a δαíμων in the Greek language. In Homer’s Odyssey the word is interchanged with Oεóς, the terminology used to describe a god.’
‘You mean you’re a muse.’ The beer was obviously going to my head, because I found myself being drawn into conversation with him.
‘Rather more practical than a muse. But like those insight-bearing creatures, we have a tendency to attach ourselves to one person and operate in a problem-solving capacity, yes.’
‘Let me get this right. You’re a familiar. A personal daemon?’
‘I could be your personal daemon—if you require my help.’
‘D’you have any idea how completely fucking ridiculous that sounds?’
Spanky gave me a cool, hard look. ‘You’re the one with the lousy life, chum. Tell me you don’t require my services and I’ll walk out of here right now.’
That made me angry. ‘Well, I don’t, okay? Who the hell do you think you are, walking up to a complete stranger and telling him he’s having a lousy life?’
He stepped nearer, pointed an accusing finger. ‘Martyn, I know all about you. You work in a tenth-rate furniture store and you can’t even do that right. Your supervisor is about to fire you and promote your fellow workmate, the little fat chap. Your attitude sucks. Your last girlfriend left because she was sick of not getting any emotional reaction out of you. You can’t remember the last time you had fun with someone. If you don’t want my help, fine, everything’s tickety-boo. There are thousands of mortals begging for a break like this, a chance to change their lives and realize their deepest desires. I can take you out into the freezing black universe through an infinity of starlight. I can fill your mind with the sentience of harmonic world order and your body with the mobius-chords of hedonistic fulfilment.’
I looked at him blankly.
‘Or you can throw the opportunity away. It will never, ever come again.’
He turned sharply on a highly polished heel, walked off into the throng and was quickly lost from sight.
Even though I hadn’t believed a word he’d said, the sudden, sinking sense of loss was so strong that I found myself moving quickly across the floor of the club. I caught up with him near the staircase leading back to the street.
‘Wait, how do you know so much about me? This is some kind of scam, isn’t it, like timeshare sales, or est or something.’
‘Are you asking me or stating a fact? It sounds like you’ve already decided. You should try to keep an open mind.’
‘I have an open mind.’
‘Just for the record it’s not a trick, Martyn. I can look right into you, and I know how to help. I’m attuned to people in need. I can see you’re going to take further convincing. Okay, give me an hour of your time.’
‘When?’
‘Right now, before you have a chance to talk yourself out of it.’
‘Why, what do you want to do?’
‘Bite you on the neck and drink your blood, what do you think? For heaven’s sake, don’t you ever make a decision? No wonder you’re not considered management material. But with my help, you might be.’
And something snapped. Right then.
What could happen in an hour?
I didn’t want to stay at the club. The music was lousy, and drunk secretaries were starting to dance around their bags. What did I have to lose?
‘All right,’ I agreed against my better judgement, following the shiny black shoe-heels as they retreated up the stairs ahead of me. I wanted to know where he’d got his information, and how he’d done the trick with the flame-women. So I let him lead me from the club.
Can you definitely, absolutely say that you wouldn’t have done the same thing?
Chapter 3
Illusionism
We were walking through the wet city streets at twenty-five minutes past midnight, me and my new friend Spanky, arguing about God. It was the kind of argument you should only have with a complete stranger. I know it’s boring, but I have to transcribe part of our conversation; it’ll help to explain some of the terrible events that occurred later.
I said, ‘I thought demons were automatically evil.’
‘There are demons and daemons,’ explained Spanky. ‘Angels are often devils, and vice versa. It’s a theological minefield. Satan was an angel who fell from God’s side, remember. By its very nature, a daemon is far closer to an angel.’
‘You would say that, wouldn’t you? If you really wanted me to believe this stuff.’
‘Your chosen family religion is Church of England, isn’t it, Martyn?’
‘I suppose so . . .’ I agreed, striding to keep pace with him.
‘Then how can you know anything? These days the Church of England isn’t about religion, it’s a real estate business. You should try Catholicism, my friend. As a belief system, it’s a lot more demanding. You have to cope with the transubstantiation of the eucharist before you can get anywhere.’
Religion had never been my strong point, and I felt uncomfortable talking about it. Church services seemed available in two strengths: high-exotic, which was eerie and incomprehensible, and user-friendly, which had fanatical pro-lifers banging tambourines. Then there were the blurry bits; people who wouldn’t give dying children blood transfusions, and perky Americans who insisted on telling you how happy they were with Jesus. Perhaps this guy was a recruitment officer for the Scientologists.
‘If you hadn’t dropped out of Religious Education when you were in the fifth form, Martyn, you’d know that far from being malign creatures from the Pit of Hell, most of us are highly spiritual, rational –’
‘– Non-human –’
‘I didn’t say that. All spirits exist in man. Allow me to quote from the works of the Franciscan theologian Lodovico Sinistrari. He defined us thus: There are in existence on earth rational creatures besides man, endowed like him with a body and soul; they are born and die like him; they are redeemed by Our Lord Jesus Christ, and therefore are capable of being saved or lost. These rational creatures are swayed by the same emotions and passions, jealousies and lusts, as man. Be careful there; you’re about to step in dog shit. Where was I? They are affected by material substances; therefore they have corporeity. But this corporeity is far more tenuous and subtle than the body of man. It enjoys a certain rarity, permeability, volatility, and power of sublimation. These creatures are able at will to withdraw themselves from sight. There’s a lot more; I won’t tire you with it. Mind the bus.’
We crossed the road north, heading for the great spiked iron gates of Regent’s Park, where my folks had always brought me as a kid. It was a favourite place, a safe haven. The rain had finally stopped. Spanky’s image bounced back from the shining roadway and splintered in a hundred pools. He waved his hands expansively as he talked. ‘Feel free to ask me anything you want.’
I thought for a moment, hopping up on the far kerb. ‘How old are you?’
‘In human terms, twenty-five. To a daemonological way of thinking that would represent a much longer period of time. It works rather like dog years. Let me see.’ He removed a small leather pocketbook from his jacket and checked it. ‘I ha
ve the exact date of my human birth here somewhere.’
‘So you were born in human form?’ I asked, playing along.
‘Let’s say reborn,’ he replied. ‘It would take me forever to work out how long I’ve been around as a daemon.’ He snapped the pocketbook shut. ‘Well, I know that my present body came into the world at some point in the mid-nineteen-twenties.’
‘That would make you around seventy.’
‘I’m wearing rather well, don’t you think?’
‘I’ll tell you what I think. I’m an imbecile for even listening to this crap.’
‘Look in my eyes and you’ll know it’s not crap. See what I’ve seen.’ He turned and thrust his hands in his pockets, staring defiantly at me. I knew it had to be a trick, a fake, that he was probably an out-of-work mesmerist operating some kind of scam, but I turned and looked.
And saw.
I was no longer standing on a darkened city street.
Instead I was surrounded by green and white walls. Paint on stone.
The smell of liniment and disinfectant.
The ward of a military hospital, harshly illuminated with grey tin lamps. Disoriented, I tried to see ahead.
In the distance, a partitioned room was filled with whispering white-coated figures. The lights here had been dimmed. The doctors stepped aside to provide a glimpse of a supine patient, a sleeping man with a handsome, craggy face. He looked very ill, close to death. The top portion of his head was shielded from view by a linen tent. He was barely breathing. The murmuring figures closed back around him, hiding his inert form behind white sheets. I felt the closeness of death, and was mortally afraid. I heard Spanky’s voice from far away.
‘I was ten years old. My father was a doctor. Sometimes he would take me into the ward at night. On this night he took me to catch the last glimpse of a legend. Lawrence of Arabia, expiring from a fractured skull after a collision on his motorcycle.’
The corridor shimmered and vanished. Shaking with cold, I suddenly found myself back on the street. I looked about. No vestige remained of what I had just seen.
‘What the hell do you want with me?’ I asked, shocked by the child’s vision of the dying hero.
Spanky pouted, momentarily stumped. ‘I thought that was obvious,’ he said at last. ‘Perhaps you don’t realize it, but you’re looking for someone with the power to change you. You clearly can’t do it by yourself.’
I drew back, ready to argue, but before I could say anything Spanky raised a neatly manicured hand. ‘If you’re going to be offended every two minutes, we won’t get anywhere. I need to look at your case factually and objectively. Certain personal failings will have to be acknowledged. It’s what they tell alcoholics; admitting the problem is halfway to overcoming it.’
‘So now I’m an alcoholic, am I?’
‘I’m merely illustrating the point. You’re basically a good person, Martyn, but your life has come off the rails. With most people that doesn’t happen until they’re at least forty.’
He had a damned nerve. My life wasn’t so bad. Lots of people were worse off. ‘So what’s the deal?’ I shouted. ‘You’re going to pitch me a bargain, right? You sort out my life and get to keep my soul, then you damn me to hell for eternity. I’m not prepared to surrender my soul to anyone.’
‘Don’t flatter yourself, Martyn. I don’t suppose you even have a soul. Few people ever do. They’re as rare as honourable men. You’ve been watching too many old movies. Besides, only the devil gets to take souls.’
‘And I guess he’s a good friend of yours?’
‘No, I honestly don’t think he exists in corporeal form, any more than God does. They’re more of a general sensation, an aura of good and evil, not actual physical entities. We don’t work like that. For a start, I’m real. And I’m here to make sure that you get your life back on the right lines. Once it’s running the way you want, I’ll leave.’
Suppose he’s for real, said a tiny voice in the back of my head. Suppose, against all that’s sane and rational, he has the power to do what he says. He could do more than just set things right. He could give you everything you ever wanted. The thought took hold and grew.
Well, no one would refuse three wishes from a genie.
The park was closed. Spanky slipped his hand through the wrought-iron bars and gently lifted away the lock, swinging the gate open wide. We walked into a gravelled avenue of rain-heavy plane trees, dimly lit by the street lamps outside. I noticed that my new acquaintance threw no shadow.
‘No, I’m like Peter Pan in that respect,’ he called back.
‘I’d prefer it if you wouldn’t keep pulling the mindreading trick. It’s an invasion of privacy.’
‘Sorry, Martyn. Force of habit I’m afraid. I know it must seem rude. You’ll have to learn to shield your thoughts from me a little. I absorb light, but I do cast a reflection. And I have a mirror image, don’t I?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You should. It’s you. Surely you see the resemblance between us? I noticed it at once.’
‘I suppose there is a bit,’ I grudgingly acknowledged.
If Spanky was my mirror image, he was certainly the more colourful half. Everything about him, from the way he moved to the cheerful confidence of his speech, suggested enthusiasm and excitement, an energy that somehow seemed rooted in sexuality. I suddenly wondered whether thinking such a thing made me queer.
‘So many insecurities,’ Spanky commented on my unspoken question. ‘Let me put your mind at rest. In my natural state I am neither male nor female. I chose to appear as a man in this incarnation, and a damned handsome one at that, because men’s opinions seem to carry more gravitas. A shameful state of affairs, but that’s how things were when I was born.’
‘They’re still largely the same,’ I said. ‘Women have made a bit of headway since then, but not much. They say the top jobs are all held by males.’
‘In my day, women controlled society. Men ran business.’
We had reached the fountain at the centre of the park. The June night was cool and pleasant, with the tang of rain still in the trees, but I was growing increasingly uneasy. There was an ozone-scented voltage in the air. The wind felt strange on my skin. The park was empty and full of noise. I think I began to feel once more that I was in the company of a madman.
‘I can tell you still don’t completely believe, Martyn. Sit down for a minute.’
Spanky passed his hand above one of the green park benches. Raindrops scattered from the painted slats until the seat was bone dry. He brought his left fist before my face and opened it to reveal a lethal-looking shard of green glass. ‘You believe that glass will enter flesh because it’s sharper, don’t you?’ He flattened his right palm and pressed the spear-tip of the shard into it, pushing until the glass passed clean through his bones to protrude from the back of his hand. Even though there was no blood, I could barely look.
‘But I believe flesh is harder than glass.’ He withdrew the shard and slowly pressed his index finger against the flat green pane until it pierced the vitrine and reappeared on the other side. ‘So which system is right, science or belief? I want to show you something else about the power of conviction. Let’s see now, who shall I call upon?’
He pointed along the neat tree-lined avenue to a gloomy patch in the middle distance. As I watched, a series of figures slowly detached themselves from the darkness and came walking into view. At first I could see nothing clearly. Then they shifted into the halo of lamplight, and I realized that the first of them was an extraordinary-looking, yet oddly familiar woman.
She was dressed in a jewelled white bodice that flared out into a wide-bustled gown of blue brocade, sewn with roses and salamanders about the hem. At its base the dress was more than two yards across. Its occupant was of haughty appearance, old and very ugly, with a tall periwig of tight white curls and large briolette earrings. Behind her, two liveried footmen walked bearing an upholstered farthingale chair between them, in case
the lady should require a rest.
She noticed us now for the first time, turning her disconcerting gaze upon me as if discovering a marauding pig in her garden. I found myself looking up at a face that seemed barely human, having a narrow chin, rotten brown teeth, a large nose, no eyebrows and no lashes, and skin so pale it required thick powder to prevent translucence.
‘Elizabeth the First,’ Spanky whispered from the side of his mouth. ‘Bow your head. She’s a bit cranky. So would you be if your mum had been beheaded when you were three.’
Just then a page ran into our vision. As I had my head inclined, I could only see the lumpy, silk-stockinged ankles of the Queen, and the page’s shoes, which sported purple satin rosettes the size of saucers.
‘Your Majesty, My Lord Essex requests an audience with you, and awaits without.’
‘Then he shall wait, and wait on; for I will not see him ere winter passes.’ The voice was the dry, flaking croak of a very old woman, not regal at all, yet there was a timbre to it that commanded full attention.
‘She thinks we are her courtiers,’ Spanky whispered. ‘I can’t afford to upset history. She’s in one of her snits with Essex. She could sulk for months. Let’s get someone else.’
As the Virgin Queen moved slowly past, her gown shifting gently from side to side like a tolling bell, she began to fade from view.
A new voice was heard in the distance, loud and argumentative, with a strong Tennessee accent. I raised my head and looked back, but the royal entourage had already vanished. When I squinted ahead at the avenue, I had another shock.
‘I don’t care what fuckin’ deal you had with him, you can tell Tom I ain’t signing it.’
Marching towards us dressed in a black leather suit, boots and wrist-straps, leaking sweat from every pore, was Elvis Aron Presley, and he sounded mighty pissed off. He was looking good, still trim at the waist, although his hair was an unnatural shade of black and had been combed forward over his face. I figured this had to be Presley circa 1968, before the real decline set in. Behind him trailed a pair of dark-suited figures, not unlike Elizabeth’s nervous footmen.
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